[Snowpocalypse] Re-supply (D 1.1, L 1.1)

Rich

For the last week, weather has been odd in Chi-town. The noonday sun has been uncomfortably warm, to the point of melting snow and ice in some places. Nobody can recall when that last happened. Even old-timers like Haakon Flip and Nomis never saw anything like this. Poor little Nosegrab was washed away in a flash flood, of all things. An Avalanche of melted water that rained down from the scrapers and then poof... no more Nosegrab.

The nights haven't changed, though; black ice and refreezing have been causing lots of problems...

Dice,

Skeg's rides need work. Is it the weather change or something else? Who has lost their ride recently and has to double up? How's that going?

You've pulled up to Lemma's shop because Dubstep said she wants to have Lemma look at her ride. Do you believe her? Is the whole gang here, or just a few of them? Well, Wonky isn't here. What did he tell you he's doing and why do you know its a bold-faced lie?

This is Dubstep


Skwee and Bleep volunteer to hang out with the rides while you go in. Whyare they so nicey nice about it?

Lemma,

You hear the rumbling of their 2-stroke and 4-stroke engines well before the Skegs come rambling into the shop. Do you have any traps or defenses you need to fiddle with, or do folks just come in when they want?

Tamedog is in here, picking up some stuff for his business. What is it? What does he offer in trade that you adore? Are you and Tamedog close?

What project have you been working on lately?

Transcriptase

Tamedog runs a gang of-- well, "scavengers" makes them sound like amateurs. They go way up into the towers and dig under the ice and go other places most people are too scared to, and sell what they can bring back. He brings me anything with a power cord, and I keep his gear in shape.

Today, it's a routine trade: I'm sharpening some drill bits, and throwing in some lightbulbs for his crew's helmets. He's got, like, three DVD players and a toaster, because he can't really tell the good stuff from the junk, but there's an old PC in the pile I can strip for parts, and I really never have enough wire. Last month, though, they found the ruins of an old factory and managed to haul me in an articulated robotic welding arm. I built them something special for that-- a handheld motion detector.

(Are me and Tamedog close? We've gotten drunk a couple times after business was concluded. He's a good customer, and I trust him. We're not close like *that*, though. I don't think I'm dangerous enough for him. Or, come down to it, man enough.)

Last few weeks, I've gotten tired of relying on that asshole Backside Misty for my power. The trickle she lets you rent is fine if you're running a heater and some lights and aren't too particular if it cuts out for a few hours. But a girl, particularly a girl with a pile of blinking displays and an articulated robotic welding arm, has needs.

I'm covering the canopy of the gas station in solar panels, and I'm putting the supports in for a couple a serious windmills, too. Now I just need something I can use for blades.

I don't really go in for traps. I trade a lot, and frying customers is bad business. Plus, there are serious hardasses who'd get upset if I wasn't around to fix their shit. People like Dice, actually. I keep the rifle in reach, but I don't get too jumpy.

Rich

Lemma,

Dubstep throws open the door, offering a look to Tamedog, then one to you. She grins, and with her bright red lipstick, that's a mighty wide grin, "Lemma! Hey girl, I need you to check out my ride, it's idling all weird and shit." She comes over closer enough to smell. Do you wear perfume or anything? She picks up something, off a desk or a table or something. A filter or somesuch, just playing with it.

Leftahead

Yeah, it's the weather. More explicitly, it's the seals. You can get away with a lot when your cables and seals are all covered over in an inch of rock-solid ice; when it warms up like this, the chinks show, and the sleds get finicky. Nothing we can't handle, though.

Dubstep is full of shit, and skating thin, because she knows the rule is that no one actually pops the cap on a sled except a Skeg. She can ask Lemma for advice, and to take a look if SHE opens it up, but she knows that she's out if she lets someone else actually get balls-deep in her sled.

Speaking of balls-deep, that's why Dubstep's here. She's got a thing for Lemma like fuckin' A, and was just waiting for an excuse to come by. It's just the four of us right now, I'm the self-appointed chaperone to make sure Dubstep does not do anything like hey!

Skwee and Bleep (the twins) are so 'nice' about staying outside because they're dedicated claustrophobes who get twitchy after about ten minutes inside anything they can't cut their way out of, and like what the fucking fuck? after twenty. The Skegs give them shit about it sometimes, because pussies, but mostly don't hassle them because they were willing to double-up while we find Terrorcore a new sled after his 4-track went through the ice to the bottom of the lake. They have a thing where they know what each other is thinking and it's like, Whoah. And whatever, twincest, who cares as long as they can take a corner downtown in 3rd gear?

Ah, Wonky. What am I going to do with Wonky? Even as I speak to you, he is getting a fucking TATTOO, and his sled is only half-pimped at this juncture. I know this because Needles ran with us for a year before he retired because ink stud, and he tells me when the strays find their way to his studio. Wonky knows the rules about flashing the sleds before you flash the flesh, but must to make an impression on some greenhouse girl or other because fucking Wonky. We're gonna have a talk when he gets back and it's gonna go like I dunno.

Transcriptase

Perfume? Me? No. Right now I probably smell like hot metal.

I let the grinder spin down and toss the last drill bit to Tamedog with a nod. Then I take the filter from Lemma and put it back on the table. I look her in the eyes-- probably a few inches up-- and say "Yeah, all right, let's give it a listen."

I motion to the door and follow her out.

Rich

Dubstep heads out and is all presentational about her sweet, sweet ride. She pops the top and sort of leans over it, like showing off her tits, because her jacket is zipped down and well, she does have big ones.

Do you even care, Lemma?

The pair of you hear a shot ring out. Blocks away, bouncing off the buildings. Quickly followed by sprays of machine-gun fire.

"What do you think... Lemma?" Dubstep says in a slightly husky tone.

Leftahead

Dice makes a sideways fist at the twins, indicating they should saddle up and be ready to rocket if the party comes uptown.

Rich

hey Dice, what party do you expect might come along? Do you have some rival snowmobile gang to contend with or something else?

Leftahead

There are plenty of people with snowmobiles, but we're the only real sled gang. Given direction and time of day, it's probably some stupid dispute between the Wrigleys and Comiskeys over dogma because religion. I could give not one. Single. Fuck. about whose ground is holier, but they get increasingly crazy about it as October gets closer, which sucks for the neighbors because collateral damage.

Rich

Dice,

Terrorcore comes over to you, offering you a smoke. He says low, not whispering, but not loud, "Bossman, we got any real bidness here, or are we all third wheels for Dubstep's pitiful play?"

Leftahead

"We are saying hello because manners. If you hadn't gone over that wet spot you could be out on the run right now so, zip it."

Dice rolls his eyes at the crumpled butt, who knows how long it sat in some stiff's pocket waiting for a Scav to come along and pry it loose?

"Those things will kill you, because lungrot. Get me some fucking coffee."

Transcriptase

Hmm. I don't really roll that way by default, but the nights are cold and most folks display some adaptability. Let's say she's drawing to an inside straight. Volatile and twitchy's not really my type, though.

More to the point, if she wants my attention, standing next to an engine that needs repairing was a bad strategic move.

I drop to a squat next to the sled, pull my goggles up, and go still for a few seconds while I listen.

Transcriptase

Roll Things Speak (+Weird, +1XP):
(Rolled: 2d6+2. Rolls: 5, 2. Total: 9)

Transcriptase

What's wrong with this, and how can I fix it?

Rich

Dice,

Terrorcore heads off to get you coffee. Is that a thing for you, coffee? Or was it a dismissal?
Oh hey, here's Terrorcore:


Lemma is looking at Dubstep's bike, just looking.

Rich

Lemma,

This bike is easily fixed, some broken seals. It's road-worthy now. The thing is, you're not supposed to touch it or fix it, that's Dubstep's job. She'd get in real trouble if you did this. But if, say, the rest of the Skegs left, you could talk Dubstep into letting her touch her... stuff.

Transcriptase

I nod and drop the goggles around my neck.

"Yeah, I've got what you need in the back. Gonna take a bit for you to swap things out, though. Wanna pull into the garage?"

I toss Dice a look. "No need to keep everyone waiting if you've got places to be."

Rich

"Sounds good, Lemma," Dubstep says as she starts moving her ride into the garage. "Head on, Dice, I'll catch up. Where you guys gonna be?"

Dice, who's your number one?

Leftahead

Some people have religion. Dice has coffee.

Dice gives Dubstep the look, but nods.

"NP, we'll be back in an hour."

He joins the crew as they go off downstairs in search of a nosh.

Leftahead

My deuce is Trap. He's on a run right now with the rest of the gang, should be back late tonight.

Rich

Dice,

What kind of food do you expect downstairs? Is this Lemma's grub, or is she connected to something else, like tunnels and shit?

Lemma,

You're alone now. Dice has taken the gang downstairs. Just the two of you. Together, just like you hoped.

Oh, Dubstep's here, too.

What do you do?

Transcriptase

Look, I wouldn't engage in social subterfuge for the chance to change some seals. There's satisfaction in routine maintenance work, yeah, but I've got plenty of my own stuff to do that to.

But I've been thinking about fuel injectors. I'm thinking if you changed the mounting, you could shorten the path and widen the aperture. Squeeze a few extra horses out, and remove a couple centimeters of piping you'd otherwise just have to maintain.

I mocked up a prototype last week, but I need an real, live engine to test it on-- one with connectors exactly like the ones on Dubstep's sled.

So, I rummage around and come up with the seals and tubes she needs, toss them in a pile, and let her get started. While she's working, I come up behind her and just watch for a bit, just a few seconds. Then: "Listen, I know you're the one who's supposed to handle your ride, but I've got something I think could give it a little something extra. Want me to install it?"

When she turns around to answer, I lace my fingers and stretch my arms over my head, holding eye contact.

Transcriptase

OOC: I don't actually know anything about engines. Everything I say about them will be the basic equivalent of "reverse the shield polarity" on Star Trek. Hope this doesn't bother anyone.

Rich

Dubstep turns to look at you, and you can tell, she's halfway through a "no" and then, bam. She's just watching you stretch, like she's at some playhouse and you're the star. She practically drools.

She recovers her wits a bit, and smiles at you, moves up close, sort of in your personal bubble. "Listen. They're gone, and it's just you and me." She reaches a hand up to your shoulder, squeezes it in a kind of massage-caress something, "I love the work you do, for reals. You're a fucken magician. But you know, I gotta work on my bike by myself, or Dice'll kick my ass out. So like..." She slides her hands around yours, moving right up against you, "Maybe we work on it together? You guide my hands. Wherever you want, and I'll be the one doing the work. I'll just be... your little puppet. Yeah" She's so right in your face now, kissing-distance. But well, she's not going to force herself, she can play it off as being touchy feeley or whatever at this point.

What do you do?

OOC: Everything you say will be awesome-sauce to me. I am more ignorant than you by half. I also like Star Trek babble.

Transcriptase

I hold the distance.

"Yeah, okay, let's do that." I hand her a wrench, spin her around, and start directing her.

It's... kind of nice, actually. But I want to actually do the work *before* we get distracted.

Rich

Lemma,

Dubstep says brightly, "That's mags, Lemma!" She turns to the snowmobile, works with you to get tools out and follows your every instruction. You get the sense she wasn't lying, she really does think you're a master of this.

As I said, you can fix this to spec pretty easily, but if you want to do something more, like you mentioned above to her, it'll take several hours of work, or it will be a crap (read: "prototype") version that will be unreliable.

Transcriptase

I really want to test this, but we don't have time to sneak the full version in. We'll use my prototype.

"Listen, let me know how this thing works. And if it breaks... well, bring it back in and we'll fix it."

Leftahead

There's tunnels all over!

In this case, we're going to go find the shrimp farm where they grow those fat-ass eyeless blue ones that can stay alive for weeks if you freeze them solid.

Rich

Dice,

How far out is this farm? Aboveground or below? Who protects this place? Does Quiksilver still run the farm?

Rich

Lemma,

Dubstep smiles a little smile when you two are finished working. "That was great, Lemma. You know, we're good together, like this." Dubstep isn't pushing you for anything, but she's feeling you out, wondering if it's gonna happen or not.

What do you do?

Transcriptase

Lemma:

I don't do this much, but it's nice to be wanted (and admired). Plus, Dubstep has stumbled on some extremely effective foreplay.

"We're not done yet," I say, and step in close for a kiss. I keep guiding her hands, but not to the engine.

Rich

Lemma,

Dubstep lets you guide her to your version of paradise, even if only for a little while on the cold concrete floor of your workshop. Go ahead and fire your Sex Move.

Transcriptase

Three questions from the Things Speak move about her:
Who handled her last before me?
What has most recently been done with her or to her?
What's wrong with her, and how might I fix it?

Rich

Lemma

Answers for Dubstep:
Japanoise handled her last. It was a rough break-up, the two still don't talk. Japanoise cheated on her, and Dubstep has no clue why.

Most recently, Dubstep had an abortion. She's trying real hard not to think about it. It was probably Hardbag's (another Skeg). She's pretty sure. He doesn't know, she wants to keep it that way.

Dubstep needs someone to talk to about the abortion, really bad. She's stuffed it down and it is eating at her. She doesn't want to seem weak, and she doesn't want anyone to know, either.

Leftahead

The shrimp farm is half a dozen blocks in towards the city through the tunnels. Should take us under and past whatever bullshit is going on with the shooting streetside. Dice has mercy on the twins and tells them to keep an eye on the sleds, he'll come back with cocktails for them.

The shrimp farm itself is in what used to be a spa with several hot tubs and a couple of those fancy indoor lap resistance pools, now all repurposed to vat-grow those weird, fat, tasty blue-veined, two-tailed jumbos.

Rich

Dice,

You head down to the Freight Tunnels with Terrorcore, leaving Skwee and Bleep with the rides. Terrorcore is chatty on the way, talking shit about Wonky. He's all, "He's been gone for days now," and "No loyalty at all, leaving us like that," and "I heard he's in a cave with his cousin, who knows what the hell they're doing down there."

How do you handle that?

You wind your way through a few tunnels until you reach Palmer's Shrimp Farm, which even has a sign. Inside are tubs and pools, the place is pretty damn warm. A few locals work here just to keep the chill off, so Palmer is making out pretty well. Who pays for all the juice he's using anyways, do you know?

Chubby, sweaty Palmer heads over when you come in to meet and greet. "Dice! Back so soon? That's mag! Come on, man. You want some more fatties?" Palmer's guiding you to lap pool three, which bubbles slightly and the whole place smells salty, of course. Terrorcore is walking with you, just keeping an eye on things, you know, in case.

What do you normally use for trade with Palmer?

Leftahead

Terrorcore talking shit I ignore. 'Who knows' means 'no one knows' which means 'why bother trying to guess and make yourself paranoid'.

The old Canucks who do the polar bear baiting shows pay for his juice. It's a nasty, fucked-up business, but there's a certain class who'll pay jingle like, jackpot! to see that shit.

We trade the only thing we have: speed. Though these fat bitches will stay alive if you freeze them, they toughen up the longer they stay that way. So for maximum mouth, they gotta make it to a pot before they cool down too much. That's where we come in. Every delivery that gets made (by us OR someone else), we get a cut. We're talking big deliveries, to cocktail stands and luxe eateries. It's a subtle and complex mix of delivery fee and protection racket.

Transcriptase

Lemma:

Whew. I'm much better with engines than people. I wait until we're cleaning up and not looking at each other. I'll say "Listen, Dubstep... I know what broken things look like. You're not one. Things will be okay."

Rich

Dice,

Palmer looks at you, then Terrorcore. He gets kind of serious, ignores the couple of other folks staring into the pools like they know what the hell they're doing. Palmer asks, "Yo man, you here to buy, or lookin for work?"

Lemma,

Dubstep hitches up, just for a moment. She turns to face you, her sneer and her bravado stripped away in that moment. Her mouth twitches like she's going to say something, some kind of raw reply. But then, nothing comes out. She looks away, then says quiet, "Hey, uh... yeah. Th-thanks."

She blinks it away, then shakes her head, chuckles, and says loudly for no reason, "Wonder where da fuck Dice went? He said an hour, yeah? The ride took what, maybe an hour, and I wore you out in half that time... I'm headin out to chat with the twins. You, uh, need anything?"

Leftahead

Dice grins at the agitated old coot and just says, "Yes," as he reaches down to pull a wriggling blue shrimp out of one of the pools before popping it into his mouth and crunching down on the tasty morsel.

Rich

Dice,

Palmer shifts a bit, like that wasn't the answer he'd hoped for. He says low, just for you, "Listen, man. Stink Bug and his fellas are offering to pay me to carry the next load or two. And I'm like, 'What about Dice?' and he's all, 'Don't even worry about it.' So, I'm tempted, man. But you've done good by me, so I'm laying this at your feet."

What do you do?

Leftahead

Grin wider and eat another shrimp.

"Well, shit, Palmer, if you can afford to pay Stink Bug to keep the jumbos safe, AND me to keep Stink Bug safe, then more power, but why mess with middle men like that?"

Dice throws his hands in air and hollers gleefully, "DIS-INTER-FUCKING-MEDI-ATION! KEY TO FUCKING SUCCESS!!! AM I RIGHT, FOLKS? WHO HERE HATES MIDDLE MEN AS MUCH AS THE NEXT GUY?"

Dice cocks his head and looks Palmer in the eye.

[Read a person: (Rolled: 2d6+1 . Rolls: 1, 5. Total: 7)]

(OOC: Rich, I don't think you ever highlighted a second stat for me, or I just missed it?)

POTENTIAL CHEATING DETECTED. If it appears that dice were rolled in this post, they may need to be disregarded as fabricated.

Rich

OOC: The dice roll was NOT edited. It was me, I fixed a typo - Palmer's name. Dice roll is correct.

Dice,

The other customers start quickly leaving the place. They know what's up.

Palmer looks flustered. "No, I mean... they'd do the protection gig, too. I'm just being a businessman, you know? Listen, I'd save a barter a month if I went with Stink Bug. You know?" He looks around nervously, sees that he lost customers, blinks a couple times.

Second OOC: Highlight... I can't tell from your character sheet what else is highlighted? Highlight Hard if it isn't already. Then Sharp if Hard is already Highlighted.

Transcriptase

Lemma:

"No. Just... let Dice know I'm looking for some blades for my windmill. Anything strong, big, light, and curved. Bring me the right stuff and I'll whip up something special for the sleds."

A beat goes by before I remember to do the human niceties. "Uh... see you around."

Rich

Lemma,

Dubstep nods, still a little sensitive about the whole "broken" thing, but she heads out.

Just you in your shop now. How do you normally pass your time? Do you have a list of work for people or something? Or do you mostly work on your own things?

Transcriptase

It's a mix-- I work a lot of jobs for people, but then I mostly plow the barter back into my own stuff. It's a little slow right now-- I've worked down to the bottom of the list and I'm a little stalled on my windmill looking for parts.

So, I've got this other project, outfitting a bigass van with snow treads. Last time I was called out to fix the filters in Palmer's shrimp farm I had to make 4 trips to haul my tools over there. Figure I could make this thing into a mini-workshop, take it with me to gigs or into the freeze looking for parts.

It's still up on blocks, though. I finally snagged the second set of treads in a trade a couple weeks ago, but they were made for something completely different and I have to get the tension right and then balance the torque with the other set...

Rich

Lemma,

After some time, Layback comes strolling in. He's got his normal pack of junk he's filched from far-flung high rises. He lugs the heavy-lloking bag to what, a counter or a table or something? Then he drops it down, with a satisfying clunk. "Yo. Check these out, tell me what you can fix. I'll give ya a third of what I sell. Yeah?"

Is this your normal deal or is he changing prices? How often does this happen?

Also, what's in that bag that looks really damn sweet and worth more than the rest together?

Transcriptase

Lemma:

It's a regular deal, and the price is standard, but his payments have come in awfully light the last couple times. I suspect he's skimming.

I'm about to bring it up when... is that a cutting laser? Yes. Who knows where he found it, or what kind of shape it's in, but I want it.

Transcriptase

I try to keep my eyes off the laser while I paw through the stuff. "Yeah, I can work with this, Layback, but I'm gonna need your math skills to be a little sharper this time when you're bringing me my cut. Either you were light last couple times, or you're a shitty salesman."

Rich

To Lemma:

Layback shifts a bit, uncomfortable under your gaze. "Listen... about that, I. How short am I, you think?" He's never been terribly great with numbers, has he? But he is great at reading people, getting them to believe in what he's selling. Of course, he blows through jingle like nobody's business, usually giving things away.

Leftahead

[OOC: Rich, I messed up, my Sharp is actually 0, so that roll was a 6! I haven't asked any questions yet, so no harm done.]

Dice shakes his head and sighs.

"Palmer, the reason Stink Bug is cheaper is because it'll take him 2 full days up to Brewtown and back with his pack, and the Skegs can do it in 4 hours, and your jingle won't smell like wet dogs and asscrack when you get it back. Because Stink Bug."

Dice pops another shrimp into his mouth, and sucking on it, makes the 'gun it' hand signal to Terrorcore (fist straight out, then twist it like you're hitting the throttle on your sled) and walks out the front. Dubstep's had enough time to finish her business.

Rich

Dice,

Terrorcore laughs his ass off at the wet dogs and asscrack comment. And that really, really gets to Palmer, like he thinks maybe you're making fun of him. But then you're leaving and there aint she he can do about it.

But here's the thing, Dice. When you tried to get a read off Palmer, you actually opened yourself up a bit there. Of course, Palmer doesn't know you, he's just a fuck-up with some food.

But Terrorcore got a look at what makes you tick. So tell him, truthfully, Dice.

What do you wish he'd do?
What do you intend to do about Stink Bug?
How can Terrorcore get you to get him a new ride?

Transcriptase

"Hey, I figure it comes to maybe a jingle over the last month. I don't want it to come between us... How about I fix things up and maybe keep, um, this one? Then we're back to normal for the rest."

Rich

To Lemma:

Why don't you give me a Manipulate on that? A hit and he is good with the trade.

Leftahead

I wish he'd just set Gabber on fire or drop an engine block on his face or whatever already and get it over with so they could stop posing for everyone and he could have a sled again.

I intend to walk away and see if Stink Bug is stupid enough to carry this through, and if he is, we're going to catch him out on the ice and chop him up and feed him to his sled-dogs (then find a decent gig for the dogs, it's not their fault he's an asshole).

He could bring me definite proof that Dubstep let Lemma get her hands into her sled, otherwise, he's getting his own, because dumbass.

Transcriptase

(Rolled: 2d6+1. Rolls: 4, 3. Total: 8)
1 XP

Rich

To Lemma:

"Okay, yeah, sure. Take the whats-it, we're even stevens." Layback says, thankful to be on good terms and stuff. He hangs around the shop for a bit, but unless you've got something to say, he'll leave before long.

To Dice:

You come back up, up through Lemma's shop, right? Want to chat with her? Looks like her work with Dubsteps' ride is over.

Leftahead

Dice and Terrorcore clank back up the spiral staircase into the entryway to Lemma's place.

"Fuckin' Plamer, man. Lemma, we'll be out and about next couple. Anything you need right now?"

He starts in goggle-eyed mock surprise.

"Woah, hey, Layback, didn't see you there, because of how you were trying to avoid looking at me and everything. Did you ever manage to find that stash you told Hardbag about that time you were all Vicksed?"

He looks over the stuff the punk is lugging.

Transcriptase

"Dice. Yeah, if you keep an eye out for some big, light, preferably curved pieces of metal-- like, aluminum, and about as tall as I am-- I'd make it worth your while to bring 'em in."

Transcriptase

I put the laser aside. That's going to need a mount and a power supply, and I'll get to it, but thinking about power makes me think about my windmill. I'd like to go into my workshop and get the treads on the van and getting it set up to haul some of my gear-- I'm getting impatient spreading the word around about what I'm looking for and am thinking about going out looking on my own.

OOC: This is a "go into my workshop to build something" move, so you can tell me what it's going to take.

Rich

To Lemma:

Sure, Lemma, you can fix this sucker up, no problem. But, first you'll need to get those fans you've been asking about.

OR, you can head down to the dump and find something yourself. But then you'll be exposing youself to the Dumpies.

Why does everyone avoid the Dumpies, Lemma? What are the rumors about them?

Transcriptase

Well, most people avoid the Dumpies because they live in and around the Dump. You'd think things would be frozen over, but of course the Dumpies go digging, and where they turn things up the smell can get pretty bad.

But it's more than the smell. They're insular, and they get real intense about some of the stuff they dig up. I've heard there's a renegade Preserver in charge out there, who thought the Order was too selective about what to preserve. Some people say they worship the stuff they dig up. I've heard weirder stuff, too, like that they're being mind controlled by some pre-Freeze artifact they dug up, but that just seems crazy.

Rich

To Lemma:

So you're in your workshop now, Dice has to be long gone. Is this what you do? Hang out by yourself?

Do you have the radio on? Any friends who help you out with some of the big projects?

Transcriptase

But yeah, I'll head out there. I've got a pair of cross-country skis I use for short trips and a strap for the rifle. I pack some basic survival gear--food, mylar blanket, that sort of thing-- in case I get stuck, but I'm traveling light, since I'm hoping to carry some stuff back.

Rich

To Lemma:

How often do you trade with the Dumpies? Have any friendly faces in that tribe?

What's between you and them?

Transcriptase

Friendly would be an overstatement, but there are some familiar faces. Probably outriders, since I don't push into the main enclaves. Trading is tricky, because it's really hard to guess what they think is valuable.

It usually goes like: I scavenge through the piles, and sometimes they watch from a distance. If I'm taking something they don't want, I just walk out with it. The Dump's too big for even the Dumpies to claim everything in it. If they think it's valuable, or if I'm violating some kind of invisible border claim, they'll pull up and tell me to back off. Sometimes I can strike a deal then, sometimes not.

There's a woman, thick braids and dark skin, goes by Marmot, seemed almost friendly. Then there are two guys, Cork and Butter, who never lifted the visors on their helmets. Less friendly at first, but I helped them out with an engine problem.

Leftahead

Nodding at Lemma's request, Dice and the crew saddle up.

(Rich, I'd like to go track down those windmill parts Lemma asked about. I think I'm going to go check with Hadden to see if this idea I have will work...)

Rich

To Lemma,

Let's get you in a new scene here.

To Dice:

New scene for you here